


Come On Eileen

by dare121



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Dancing, F/F, Fluff, Post-Season/Series 03, SOFT GAYS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:35:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24734008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dare121/pseuds/dare121
Summary: After the bridge, Eve and Villanelle find themselves in a hotel room.Villanelle fiddles with the radio.Eve thinks she's cute.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 14
Kudos: 164





	Come On Eileen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coara/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY BEST FRIEND COARA!!!! 
> 
> I asked her what she wanted and this was it. Hope everyone enjoys it!

The hotel room is small, but large enough for what meager possessions Eve and Villanelle have decided to take with them. A duffel bag, a pouch full of blood money, and a bottle of champagne (courtesy of a last-minute purchasing decision at the airport).

Eve admits to herself that she didn’t think about much on her way there. It was late in the evening, and her veins were still thrumming from that moment on the bridge. The eye contact.

Even now, settled on the hotel’s single queen-sized bed, she shudders just thinking about that tiny smile on Villanelle’s face as she looked back.

“Don’t look so glum,” Villanelle says, pulling Eve out of her musings. Still in her gorgeous black slacks and form-fitting blouse, she stands next to the radio that’s a feature in each one of these hotel rooms. On the chair next to the door, her bright yellow coat has been draped in a show of reckless abandon.

“I’m not glum,” Eve retorts, letting her eyes move from Villanelle’s dangerously interested face to the champagne bottle held loosely in her hand.

They only just made it in, and Eve is tired. And wired. Twired.

She wonders what Tallulah Shark would do in this situation.

“Always such a bad liar,” Villanelle says sweetly, turning her attention back to the radio. “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

“Mad at you?” Eve sits up a little straighter and pulls her knees closer to her chest, comfortably looping her arms around them and leaning her cheek against one knee. “Why would I?”

Another smile slips across Villanelle’s mouth.

“Because you’re here, in a tiny hotel room?”

Eve snorts and rolls her eyes.

“As opposed to where, my tiny apartment?” She spreads her toenails inside her socks on the bed and watches as Villanelle fiddles with one of the radio’s dials. “Although there is one thing I’d like to know.”

“Hm?” Villanelle stops fiddling, and soft static fills the background, occasionally interspersed with distorted voices trying to break through.

“Why did you have a fake passport for me already?” Eve asks, and the tension in the room is broken.

Villanelle snorts, too.

“What is it that they say about hope?” She grins mischievously and turns the radio onto an actual station, her right foot starting to tap along to the music. “Sie stirbt zuletzt.”

Eve smirks.

“Show-off,” she says, before stretching out her legs on the bed again and reaching up towards the ceiling with her hands. “I never even learned Polish.” She thinks of Niko and the last time she’d spoken to him. _Fuck off forever_. It’s almost funny, now that she thinks about it. Almost.

“Don’t bother learning Russian,” Villanelle says casually, as though she isn’t _entirely_ aware of what she’s implying with that statement.

A moment passes, before a new song comes on, and Villanelle finally turns away from the radio.

“You didn’t happen to bring any glasses, did you?” she asks, lifting up the champagne and making gesture to open it.

“Did you see me _pack_ any?” Eve asks back sarcastically, thinking back to the surreal situation of Villanelle following her to her apartment and watching her pack a few things. Having such a large personality as Villanelle in that tiny space had been near overwhelming. Not to mention the moment of embarrassment when Villanelle had seen that _fucking_ _bear_ sitting on Eve’s windowsill.

“You’re sneaky,” Villanelle retorts and gives Eve one of her silly faces. It makes Eve feel dangerously warm inside.

“Not that sneaky.”

With a shrug, Villanelle uncorks the champagne and takes a swig directly from the bottle. With her head tilted back, Eve is treated to the lovely view of her neck. She doesn’t even feel ashamed to be watching, and when Villanelle lets the bottle drop again, her eyes find Eve’s without much pretense. She knows. They both know.

“Want any?” Villanelle holds out the bottle, and Eve feels it’s not the only thing she’s asking about.

Without hesitation, Eve grasps the bottle in her own hand and takes it, tipping it back just the same and swallowing two mouthfuls.

If she’s not mistaken, Villanelle’s eyes have changed. Grown more intense. Eve finds that she likes it, this look. It reminds her of the first time they shared a bed in Paris, right before Eve gave into that dangerous part inside her. The part that wanted to stab Villanelle for Bill, but also for herself.

Tonight, she doesn’t feel like stabbing her. Their scores have been evened, in more ways than one.

The eye contact holds, holds, keeps holding, right up until—

“ _Come On Eileen_!” Eve suddenly squawks, her eyes picking up the first few cues of one of her favorite songs.

The confusion on Villanelle’s face is near priceless and could very well be described as Very Fashionable Confused Puppy Dog, and Eve jumps to her feet with a grin, a little bit of champagne making its way out of the bottle thanks to her sudden vault.

Eve doesn’t care.

“I love this song!” she says, pushing the bottle back into Villanelle’s hands and sliding around her to turn up the music on the radio. “I used to play this around the house when I was a kid _all the time_. My parents had the single.”

With a genuine smile, she turns back towards Villanelle, whose expression is no longer confused, but quite something else.

“Come on,” Eve says as she begins to move her hips and arms.

“I told you I don’t like to dance,” Villanelle replies, taking another swig of champagne before setting the bottle on the nightstand next to the left side of the bed. There’s a gentle insecurity to her that Eve rarely sees. Villanelle always seems so sure of herself. Well, mostly. When she isn’t being strangled by her former handler. Or when Eve isn’t telling that she isn’t _hers_. Or when—Eve shakes the thoughts away and grabs Villanelle’s wrists instead.

“There’s no one here but me,” Eve reminds her, moving her shoulders back and forth to the rhythm of the song. “Unless someone is watching us through a rifle scope, you don’t have to worry.”

Looking down at her feet for a moment, Villanelle slowly begins to move her hips, horribly off-rhythm.

It’s cute.

“Maybe it would be better if there was a sniper,” Villanelle says with furrowed brows, looking up quickly at Eve when Eve moves Villanelle’s arms for her, hands still curled around her wrists. “If he shot at my feet, I would know better how to move.”

Shaking her head, Eve pulls Villanelle in closer, moving their arms back and forth to the song, which is quickly coming to a close.

“You’ll learn,” Eve says, trying to ignore how her words sound like a promise. Often, promises are things she and Villanelle and other people like them are unable to keep, even if they are willing. With The Twelve likely on their trail already, if she knows them at all, they may not even have a full week.

But when she sees Villanelle smile, the bad thoughts are banished from her mind.

“I hope you’re a better teacher than Dasha.”

_Come On Eileen_ ends just as she says it, and a new song comes on that Eve doesn’t recognize. It’s slow, and she doesn’t hesitate to step in closer to Villanelle and move them into a more intimate dance.

And as Villanelle sinks into her embrace, her cheek pillowed against Eve’s unruly black hair, Eve closes her eyes to breathe in the feeling. This time, they aren’t in a crowded room with god knows who watching them from the sidelines. They’re all by themselves.

“Thank you for turning around,” Eve whispers, clutching tightly at Villanelle’s back.

“Did you doubt that I would?” Villanelle breathes, her accent thick with emotions.

“No,” Eve allows, pressing a hesitant little kiss against Villanelle’s shoulder. “Not for a second.”

**Author's Note:**

> the gays have landed. and they're soft and snug in a little hotel room god knows where
> 
> hope you got something out of it! and again, the happiest of birthdays to coara, who is an angel ♥
> 
> if you dug it, feel free to support me @goshdarnitjay on tumblr or to leave a comment ♥


End file.
